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features something just about every spanking enthusiast shares... Unforgettable memories
sweetened by time of those marvelously magical
moments that first ignited a lifelong passion for good, old-fashioned Female
Domination!

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Punished by mom, aunty & granny over
3
consecutive nights,last sensational spankings still
warm his heart... And more!Just one of many marvelous,
awesomely illustrated
letters featured in RCR #2

No-Nonsense Ladies is the best
female-male, old-fashioned spanking magazine of all time! Thank you all for keeping with
your original format instead of going heavy mistress & leather like most of the rest. I
can only suppose that we traditional naughty boy enthusiasts are in the minority
& the
other publications want a bigger market share. I only discovered your stuff a few months
ago & have already purchased every issue of NNL. They're all great. I especially like
the "Where It Began" section. The letters are exciting & bring back a lot of
nice memories. Maybe someday women will figure out that some of us guys would be better
off if they treated us like naughty little boys from time to time. I'm certainly much
different physically than I was as a boy. But inside, emotionally, there are a lot of
times when I'm still the brat I was back then. I think every adult is just a grown up kid
a lot of the time anyway. Maybe not all adults would benefit from a good old-fashioned
spanking, but I think a lot of them would. Especially me!

Unfortunately, I haven't had a spanking since I was sixteen.
That's when the spanking women in my life decided I was too old for such juvenile
punishment & switched to grounding, lecturing, cutting my allowance, etc. silly
punishments that just made me mad. Given the choice, even back then, I preferred a
spanking. It hurt, I cried, but it was over in ten or fifteen minutes, except for a sore
bottom for a day or two. I was grounded for two weeks at seventeen for an offense that had
earned me one tearful, short, fifteen spanking two years before. (Fifteen minutes versus
two weeks? Not much of a choice.)

I was four when my father was killed in World War II. My mother,
older sister, & I moved in with my aunt, her son & daughter, & my grandmother. I was
too young to much care about the arrangement & grew up thinking it was normal to have 3
mother figures. There was an awful lot of love & affection in our home, but it was an
old-fashioned home & that meant naughty kids got spanked. And when it came time for
that, there didn't need to be a man around or any waiting until father got home. No, there
were 3 women from 2 generations who had felt their share of spankings, administered some,
&, therefore could be considered experts!

All of us kids got spanked. None of us liked it much. My
grandmother did a large share of the disciplining since she watched us during the day, but
all of us could & did get spanked by any relative, any time, &, up until age 12, any
place she chose. After 12 you were taken off for a private punishment. I saw more
spankings than I can remember, & put on my fair share too when my grandmother, aunt, or
mother said the magic words, "That's it, young man/lady. You have just earned
yourself a sound spanking." As soon as those words were uttered, the house went
deathly quiet every time. The culprit would be crestfallen, & the rest of us kids would
be excited or fearful, depending on the severity of the offense.

I don't understand tales where every offense a kid commits earns
the same severe spanking. In our home each spanking was directly related to the crime. All
spankings were bare bottom up over the knee jobs, but how red your bottom got & how many
tears were shed depended on what you did. Tears came almost automatically to all of us
when we were in for it-- you can't help crying when you're getting spanked! But
whether you got off with a pink, dusty red, or fire engine red butt was up to the judgment
of your disciplinarian.

There were rare occasions when a crime so heinous was committed
that retribution or full penance was delayed until the birth mother was present. When that
happened, you were really in for a sore or sorer seat. When my cousin Elizabeth yelled
back at my mother one day when she was around 13, Mom hauled her upstairs by her ear
&
let us listen to Lizzie crying her way through a red bottom spanking. Later, when Aunt
Jane came home, mom told her about it & Lizzie was hauled upstairs for a session over
Aunt Jane's knee too. As far as I recall, Lizzie neither sat comfortably for a few days
nor sassed an elder again either.

I've got a lot of fond spanking memories to share, but the one I
wanted to tell you about was my last spanking at age 16.

I could, but won't, sum up my last punishment with one word:
unforgettable. Partly that's because it is the clearest recollection I have, & partly
it's because I consider it the worst I ever got. It wasn't one spanking. It was three: one
from each of the ladies of the house. See, I'd lied to them all & it was decided that I
owed an apology to each of them. An apology I stridently & repeatedly offered to each
well before she ceased spanking my never-before-so-sore seat.

I worked as a stock boy at a store in town after school when I was
16. This was 1955, and in our house, you were expected to be home when you were supposed
to be and, when you went out, give a very detailed explanation of where you were going,
etc. I was allowed to date and go out, but only on certain nights. I had a girlfriend from
school who lived in town, and she figured I could tell everyone I was working late and see
her during that time. It really was her idea! I resisted at first, knowing what she
didn't exactly what I'd get if I lied! I wasn't 17 yet. To make a long story short,
she and young love convinced me to do it, I got caught, and got red-bottom spanked not
once, but 3 nights straight!

How I got caught was a simple conversation. Why was just because I
got greedy. Mary, my girlfriend, and I had successfully sneaked time together for about a
month and a half without getting caught, so we went for more. It didn't occur to us that
the more chances we took, the more risk was involved.

When the hammer finally fell, I found out the hard way. I was
happy as a lark after seeing Mary, and smiling when I walked smack-dab into 3 stern, angry
women. It was one of those times when you're guilty of some hidden misdeed and just know,
without a word spoken, that you've been caught red-handed.

I hardly got a "but I" in while the 3 of them gave me a
blistering scolding, and then I was made to reveal the whole sordid story. My mother was
the spokeswoman, and when she heard how long I'd been lying, she looked so disappointed
that I felt like a worm. She asked me why I didn't just to come her in the beginning?
Didn't I think she would have tried to work something out so I could see Mary more often?
I felt lower than a worm.

I don't recall my feelings at that point as clearly as I remember
the rest, but a part of me really welcomed a spanking. I knew it would be a good one, but
I deserved it.

I didn't have to wait long before my wish to atone was granted,
but I was overwhelmed when the 3 of them agreed that each should exact her penalty for my
deceit. My mouth and eyes had to be wide with shock, but worse words followed
instead of one spanking session, I was to get very sound spankings on three consecutive
nights! My mother, aunt, and grandmother agreed that to administer even 2 such spankings
in one day would be brutal. They thought they were being merciful. I thought they'd just
condemned me to the fires of hell!

Guilt, shock and fear wouldn't let me move or speak until my
mother told me to go to her room and wait for her. I hurried upstairs. I wanted to get out
of there and I didn't want to earn anything extra. On the way up, I encountered Lizzie,
who I suspect was waiting for me. She was 18 and, I'm convinced, was well on her way to
becoming a no nonsense lady of sorts. She loved to tease me about getting spanked and
sometimes smacked my backside when I teased her. She gave me a knowing a smile and said
something about how I was getting what I deserved and she was looking forward to hearing
me sing my naughty boy song. I felt humiliated. We lived in a big, old house, but I knew
she was right. The thick plaster board walls and heavy doors contained most household
noise, but they weren't able to swallow the sound of a serious spanking in progress. I'd
heard enough to know.

I slunk to mom's room and waited five or ten minutes until she
came up. Then the ritual began: scolding, setting up, and then poor John turned up over
mom's lap for a spanking. I was bigger than my mother at 16, but I didn't feel like it. I
felt exactly the same as I had at 5, 6, 7... like a naughty boy about to get his bare
bottom spanked.

The helpless, hopeless feeling before the spanking starts is
pretty close to, if not worse than, the spanking itself. I can't believe anyone who has
experienced it ever forgets it. My senses were tuned to maximum intensity as mom told me
how disappointed she was, how ashamed I should be, and, worse, that I had earned and was
going to receive "the spanking of my life."

Believe me, my mom was an intimidatingly thorough spanker, so that
promise made my skin grow cold. I'd gotten several red-bottom spankings over her knee that
I was convinced were about as bad as it could get. And she was promising the spanking that
hadn't started yet would be worse.

I know I never got accustomed to being spanked. No matter how hard
I tried to prepare myself, I never got used to the shockingly horrific sting of the first
smack. My body and mind had trouble understanding what was going on, sort of like when I'd
smash my finger--I knew it hurt, but I didn't feel it right away. Then, when I did, it was
like a jolt of stinging electricity that forced my eyes and mouth to fly open, legs to
kick, and body to spasm while my brain tried to register the alarming effect of a hard
palm slapping against a very sensitive area of my body. Almost before the gasp of air
forced out of my lungs had stilled, I'd hear the second slap crack loudly a millisecond
before a repeat of the distressing sensations and reactions the first slap had caused.

My mother was a methodical spanker, just like my aunt and
grandmother. Being cut from the same maternalistic tree, each lovely lady would land
sharp, stinging spanks from the first slap to the last. The number depended on the
transgression, so it could be anywhere from 10 to over 100. Believe me, a 10 slap reminder
did make you remember, so you can understand how fearsome an over 100 slap spanking was!

I knew I was getting an over 100 slapper before the first slap
landed, so I was pretty well resigned to it, but that didn't mean I didn't forget
everything except mom's hard hand as she slapped and slapped each of my 16 year-old ass
cheeks. I could feel my bottom bobbling as the sting grew under the repeated slaps of
mom's hand. By the time she got to 10 slaps, my whole backside felt like I'd sat on a hot
stove. By the time she got to 20, it felt like it someone had turned up the heat and
flames were licking along my roasting rump.

I may have been 16, but I felt exactly like I always did when my
bare bottom was being spanked, and I didn't act much differently either. I felt ashamed of
my actions, embarrassed to be exposed, painfully aware of what was being done to my bottom
and how much more was to come, and, at the same time, grateful to be where I was.

Now the gratitude was last on the feeling list, but it was there.
I don't mean I liked being spanked or sought it out back then, but I thought of it as an
act of love and concern. Tough love, maybe, but love just the same. I never got a spanking
I didn't deserve, and I really didn't get spanked all that often. Maybe once every couple
of weeks when I was a young kid and every couple of months later on.

But like I said, I acted like a baby every time I got spanked.
Call me a wimp if you want, but I pleaded and cried through a red bottom spanking as hard
at 16 as I did at 10. There's just nothing else you can do when you're getting your bottom
spanked.

Mom spanked and spanked while I went through all my changes. By 30
slaps I was making a lot of noise and wriggling uncontrollably. By 50 I was promising to
behave and kicking my legs. By 65 or so my voice started getting choked and it was hard to
hold back tears. Not long after that I'd start breaking down in degrees: Tears and whining
pleas. More tears and loud gasps for forgiveness. Even more tears and wails for mercy.
Sobbing tears and wordless cries.

Somewhere in the above series of events mom would stop and review
the details of what had led me to her lap. I was forced to answer some questions during
this stage, though my answers were simple and quick, the better to sneak in some pleas
when she wasn't scolding. It was as if the charges had to be clarified before you received
the worst part of your sentence. As if anyone getting what I'm describing could be
confused about why they were there. Every fiber in your body knew why, and what was
coming!

Once done, mom set about indelibly imprinting the lesson into my
poor bottom. Her arm never tired, so the slaps that rang from cheek to cheek and top to
thighs were as sharp as ever. In no time I was at the gates of the final spanking stage:
mindless, fitful crying and total capitulation. Once there, all senses shut off and time
stops in time to how long the spanking lasts. I don't know exactly how many spanks I ever
got in a red bottom spanking because it's impossible to count or do anything else once you
break down. And I broke down every time.

Thinking about it now, I know that a big part of this last
spanking stage was emotional. My backside really hurt like blazes, but a lot of the tears
were those of shame and anguish for what I'd done. They mingled with the tears of pain and
together my sin was washed away. It's a hard way to find peace, but that was the feeling I
always got once the tears had stopped, hugs were exchanged, and some of the more intense
coals had stopped burning inside my bottom.

I was always a wreck when the dawning came that my spanking was
finally over. How long I had been gone, what a spectacle I'd made of myself, or how many
spanks landed, I didn't know. And my usual, overwhelming sense of gratitude that the
spanking was over was diminished that day I had 2 more spankings to endure before my
slate would be washed clean. Even in the state I was in at the time, there was no
forgetting that fearful fact. I think I cried a few extra tears when that occurred to me!

Over mom's knee I hung, flaming fanny pointed at the ceiling,
wet-faced, and breathless. She scolded me a little more, told me she hoped she'd never
have to spank me again, and told me to get up. I did so as quickly as I could and got my
pants back up as fast as I could, but I had to have given mom a beautiful view of my
spanked seat as I bent over to haul them up.

Thankfully, corner time with bottom bared had been abandoned as
too juvenile years before, so after exchanging hugs, words of endearment, and my promise
to never lie again, I was allowed to leave.

I hurried toward the room I shared with my cousin, glad that he
was out and I'd be alone to recover. But my ordeal wasn't yet completely over. Lizzie was
waiting for me and I didn't like the happy smile on her face at all. She said something
about me being in very fine voice that night, and I snapped at her to shut up.

I thought I was past her when she grabbed my arm with one hand,
pulling my rubbing palm away from my butt, and landed a really hard smack on my already
sore cheek. I was painfully surprised. Lizzie had never smacked me that hard before and it
hurt!

I think I yelped and jumped, but before I could do anything else,
Lizzie's stern voice in my ear asked if I wanted to go over her knee too. I couldn't
answer. She said that's exactly where I'd be if I ever told her to shut up again, or did
anything she didn't like. Another spanking woman in the house? I couldn't handle that
right then. I apologized, promised to behave, and was let off with one more slap.

From that night on, Lizzie teased me a lot about spanking, and
threatened me too. She sounded just like my mom, aunt, and grandmother, and I didn't doubt
for a second that her spanking ability would be their equal too. Lizzie never did actually
spank me, but she did swat my backside once in a while. Now, I kind of wish she'd done it.
But, back then, I wasn't eager for any more action than I had.

The next 2 nights held just about what the first night did, with
personal variations to suit the spanker and the state of my bottom. It was still sore and
a little red the second night and worse the third. My grandmother and aunt made sure I
learned my lesson all right, but I know they both tempered their spankings to suit my
condition. Needless to say, my seat was well-spanked sore after 3 straight nights. Lizzie
was there to tease me after each spanking, and I found out later she'd canceled a date
just to be there one evening.

I hope I haven't gone on and on too badly, but I had a lot of fun
writing this and remembering details I thought I'd forgotten. I've included my experiences
in my erotic fantasies all my life, but they'd lost some of the detail over the years.
Writing this has brought them back. I'll have to try it again. It's the only way I have to
enjoy what I wanted later and found out was impossible to get. A good, old-fashioned,
soul-cleansing spanking over the knee of a loving woman.

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